A Castle Carol
by Dr. Phoenix
Summary: When the Spirit of Christmas Past mistakenly arrives at the wrong castle, Belle and Adam seize the opportunity to see how their servants celebrated Christmas in years past. Adam's POV. Some elements of "A Christmas Carol," but not a crossover. Based on the 1991 version, as evidenced by the fact that the story of Mr. Potts does not match 2017 version.
1. Chapter 1

I sighed as I laid my head on my pillow. Being king is so much more than sitting on velvet cushions and demanding entertainment. It's actually exhausting to spend all day dealing with every problem in the country.

Fortunately, I have an intelligent queen who cares deeply about her subjects. I put my arm around Belle as she snuggled closer to me, and once again, I felt truly blessed to have her as my wife.

"What are you most looking forward to about Christmas, Adam?" she asked.

"The looks of joy on our children's faces," I replied without hesitation, "and spending another holiday with you."

Belle touched my face. "Did I ever thank you for all this? I thought I wanted adventure, anything to escape my village. I didn't know it at the time, but what I really wanted was to find true love. I wanted you."

I kissed her. "You're the queen. If you want adventure, merely speak the word. We'll be visiting diplomats to other kingdoms or enjoy a royal progress in this one. You're not a prisoner in this castle, you know."

She smiled warmly.

Suddenly, the fire went out in the mantel, and the entire room fell into utter darkness as a chill gripped the air. A glowing light slowly began to take on a ghastly form, which tried to address me in a language I knew to be Spanish, but when I didn't respond, it repeated its message in English.

"King Santiago of Spain!" the strange visitor began. "Your heart has become calloused toward your fellow man!"

"I'm actually King Adam of France," I replied. "Spain is a border country."

The figure frowned. "Are you certain?"

"I didn't understand you the first time," I answered. "Why would a Spanish king fail to understand his own language? Do you want to hear me speak French?"

The figure looked embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty. It's just that the paperwork has been such a jumble this year…"

I nearly laughed, appreciating the humor of the situation. A spirit was haunting the wrong victim. Would to Madame Beaumont that the Enchantress years ago had stated that she was simply at the wrong castle!

"Who are you?!" Belle queried.

The visitor bowed courteously. "I am the Spirit of Christmas Past. On the night of Christmas Eve, I am to attempt to change the life of King Santiago and his subjects by showing _el rey_ the errors of his ways by causing him to traverse the portals of time and see memories of his youth." After a pause, it asked, "This is Christmas Eve, is it not?"

I smiled and shook my head. "It's the day before."

The spirit began muttering under its breath. I couldn't hear exactly what it said, but I was beginning to fear it was going to lose its job for lack of Christmas sentimentality.

"Wait a moment!" Belle exclaimed. "Adam and I have been wanting to get to know our servants better for years! Since you're here, maybe you can practice on us. Can you take us to see our servants in times past?"

The figure thought for several moments. "Well, I suppose it's the least I could do after all this confusion, especially since you were nice enough not to have any hard feelings about it. Touch my hands, and we will fly to the past, but the people you see will neither see nor hear you; it will be as if you dream in your slumber."

I nodded to show I understood, and we were on our way.


	2. Chapter 2

I scarcely recognized Mrs. Potts. She was so young! I had never really thought of her as anything other than a kindred, motherly figure, but she was so different!

Dancers twirled gracefully in an elegant ballroom, but none were more beautiful than the young woman in the soft pink dress, her gorgeous, flaxen curls styled attractively around her face. Men made utter fools of themselves for just a glance from those large eyes or one simple word from the rose petal lips.

A young man bowed before her. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Mrs. Potts fluttered her eyelashes. "I'd be delighted, good sir!"

They moved effortlessly as one through the complicated steps of the dance, never once stumbling. Judging from the way they looked at each other, there was an unspoken attraction between them.

"I realize I could never be good enough for you," the man began, "but I won't be in England for much longer. The king is sending me to France."

"So I've heard," Mrs. Potts replied.

"Will you write me?"

"It won't be long before one of the maids in the French court turns your head. What use then will you have for me?"

The dance came to an end, and Mrs. Potts turned to go, but the man reached out and grabbed her hand.

"Stay," he pleaded.

"It's no use!" she protested. "I have my whole life ahead of me here. The queen has chosen me to become a lady-in-waiting. My family is here. There's nothing in France for me!"

The young man looked crestfallen. "You don't love me then?"

Mrs. Potts sighed. "I never said that. It's just that…! Don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be!"

"I'll stay here!" the man offered.

"Don't be daft, love. You'd be nothing more than a stableman here. The French king is offering you a respectable position in his kitchen."

He threw himself to his knees before her, taking both her hands in his. "Then come with me! Please!" He pulled a small ring from his vest pocket. "Leave behind life as Miss Lansbury and become Mrs. Potts!"

Judging from the look on her face, Mrs. Potts was clearly flustered.

"We'll visit," Mr. Potts promised. "We'll come as often as we like! Only a channel separates Paris from London! You're not leaving anyone behind forever!"

Mrs. Potts was blushing heavily, but she managed to mouth the words, "I accept."

Mr. Potts lifted her in his arms and twirled around a few times. "Did you hear that?! She said yes! We're getting married!"

The other servants of the English court politely applauded, but the disappointment was blatant on their faces.

"It's time to move on," the Spirit of Christmas Past remarked. "We never do stay in one place for too long."

In less time than it took to blink, we were at my parents' castle. Mrs. Potts had aged considerably, and she wore the black garments of a widow, even though her figure was swollen with child.

"You aren't focusing on your work!" my father scolded.

She sighed deeply. "Terribly sorry, sir. It's just been difficult without him, knowing he'll never be able to see our youngest child."

My father called for me, and I saw myself as a toddler.

"You see, Adam?" Father began. "This is what happens if you're foolish enough to fall in love! One day, you find yourself without the other person, and you feel miserable! You must never love!"

"No love!" my toddler self repeated.

"That's right!"

The spirit changed the setting again, and I was at my own castle. I knew we were still somewhere in the past because Mrs. Potts was now a teapot. She sat with Lumière and Cogsworth in the castle library.

"I keep thinking this is just a bad dream," Cogsworth was stating. "Surely in the morning, I'll wake up, and this will all be over! I mean, people turning into clocks?! It's ludicrous!"

"For the master's sake, I hope it is just a nightmare," Lumière replied. "Have you not heard the horrendous sounds in the forest lately?"

Cogsworth sighed. "The master will be furious to find out there are wolves in his forest. These are worse than others. I've seen them gnawing at the bars of the gate. It's just a matter of time before they figure out how to get in, and then…"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Mrs. Potts scolded. "They're just frightened, as we all are. A huge animal suddenly appeared in their territory, and they want to make sure it won't confront them."

The other two nodded.

"At any rate, we've got a good decade before the rose wilts. Surely by then, the master will have found love. We won't be like this for long, you know."

"They met in secret every year to encourage each other," the Spirit of Christmas Past informed me. "Sometimes they would quietly sing a Christmas carol. They refused to speak about the Christmases of their past; they forced themselves to speak of future holidays. They had to believe they would be human again someday, or it would have destroyed them."

I nodded. I understood the feeling all too well.

"Shall we see the past of another servant?"


	3. Chapter 3

Lumière eagerly tore open his presents, as any young boy would do.

"I recognize this castle," I remarked to the Spirit of Christmas Past. "It belonged to one of my father's barons."

Lumière was young and lively without a care in the world. He enjoyed his presents, entirely oblivious to politics or the adult world.

"Go bring me some snow," his mother instructed, "and I'll make it into a dessert!"

The child eagerly ran outside with a large bowl. He methodically chose only the top layer of snow that had fallen on stumps or benches rather than that which had been trod upon the ground, choosing the purest white that dazzled in the sun so brightly that it nearly caused blindness.

Lumière's mother began mixing vanilla and sugar to sweeten the snow. To my surprise, the family then began to consume it.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Lumière's father asked.

The boy nodded.

"Don't forget the most important part!"

As his son watched, the man hung mistletoe and kissed his wife.

Lumière winced. "That's disgusting! Do you have to do it in front of me?!"

His father chuckled. "When you become a man, you will not mind it so much! You will enjoy the kisses of young ladies your age!"

The Spirit of Christmas Past returned us to my parents' castle.

"What's troubling you?" Mrs. Potts queried.

"It's my first Christmas without _mes parents_ ," Lumière confessed. "I am lonely."

Mrs. Potts squeezed his hand lightly. "I know it's hard, especially since you weren't even supposed to be the prince's servant. Sometimes doing good deeds for others can be painful to ourselves."

He nodded.

Cogsworth cleared his throat. "If I were having my first Christmas without my parents, I would see how much I dared. I'm not suggesting you overindulge in wassail or eggnog, but it's your first holiday season as a grown man rather than a boy."

Lumière thought a moment. "Well, there is one thing I've been wanting to try!"

Without a moment's hesitation, he hung a sprig of mistletoe, and as soon as Babette stepped under it, he was ready.

"What are you doing?!" she demanded, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm.

"It is Christmas, _cherie_!" Lumière exclaimed. "You would not want to break an honored tradition, would you?!"

I chuckled. Lumière never was one to waste time with the ladies, especially Babette.

The Spirit of Christmas Past then escorted me to my own castle. Lumière was the candelabra I had known for so many years.

"I feel bad for all this food going to waste!" he complained. "All the trouble we went through to make this elegant feast, and the master forbids Christmas because of what happened last year!"

Cogsworth sighed sadly. "Another holiday gone to the wolves!"

"I think you mean gone to the dogs, _mon ami_. Thrown to the wolves actually means…" Lumière's face brightened. "That's it! If the master wants to throw Christmas to the wolves, who are we to argue?!"

Before Cogsworth could stop him, Lumière was taking a tray of food to the castle gate. When Cogsworth realized what was happening, he ran after his impulsive friend, protesting all the way.

"If we feed them, they'll come to expect it!" he argued. "They'll lose their fear of man and become dangerous!"

"But it's Christmas!" Lumière remarked.

The enchanted plates made their way between the bars of the gate. It wasn't long before there was a distant bark, and in mere moments, a pack of wolves appeared and began gobbling down the food. Taking their enthusiasm as encouragement, Lumière began bringing out more food. When the other servants found out what he was doing, they were hesitant at first, but since it was Christmas, they were willing to risk fearless wolves and an angry Beast.

As the wolves ate, two of them stood back, not touching the slightest crumb until the others had eaten their fill. If the supply of food ran out, they would go hungry altogether rather than taking food from their friends' mouths. However, there was plenty for all to eat until they nearly suffered indigestion.

"Why do you suppose the master hates them so much?" Lumière asked rhetorically. "They seem like any other animal to me."

"It's a phobia, Lumière," Cogsworth replied. "He doesn't have to rationalize it. In fact, he couldn't do so if he wanted to."


	4. Chapter 4

"Why do I have to have all the responsibilities of a grown man?" Cogsworth complained. "I have to oversee all the other children! Isn't that what their parents are getting paid for?"

"I know it's hard," Mrs. Potts consoled. "Everyone should have a normal childhood."

"I don't like being the whipping boy! It's humiliating! Even worse, it hurts!"

Lumière nodded sadly. "Yes, Prince Adam is indeed a real pain in…"

"Lumière!" Mrs. Potts scolded.

"The neck," he finished.

She sat down and held out her arms, and the two boys came over and sat on her lap to hear a story. Mrs. Potts always has had a knack for telling stories, and she does love children.

I felt bad for Cogsworth. After all, Lumière loved nothing more than a rousing game of "Try to Run Away From the Castle Rather Than Being the Prince's Servant a Moment Longer." Cogsworth frequently had to rescue his friend from wandering aimlessly through the forest.

Even as children, the two had a strange friendship. They quarreled most of the time, but anyone could tell they were close friends. After all, they complemented each other well. Cogsworth adhered carefully to the rules, whereas Lumière could be irresponsible at times, but Lumière was gracious and hospitable, two qualities Cogsworth often lacked. Neither could have handled his job alone, but they were an excellent team.

"What does the seaside look like?" Cogsworth queried. "I've always wanted to go."

Mrs. Potts described the golden sand kissed by the azure waves while gulls swooped overhead, their lamenting cries carried by the wind.

"When I retire, I want to go to the seaside," Cogsworth remarked.

Mrs. Potts chuckled. "You've got a long way to go until then."

The youngest Potts girl wandered into the room with a loaf of bread and a book.

"Where are you going, Lydia?" her mother queried.

"To play with my imaginary friends!" she answered.

"Take one of your brothers or sisters with you, and don't stay out too long."

Catherine, the eldest daughter, was summoned to take Lydia into the forest. The Potts family was rather unusual: Even though she had birthed many children, Mrs. Potts also adopted any noble or peasant orphan she encountered. As a result, the youngest son, Charles, was the twelfth Potts child.

Recently, Lydia had been taking walks in the forest, insisting that there were other children there. After questioning her daughter, Mrs. Potts had concluded that these must be Lydia's imaginary friends. When the other Potts children also described seeing these people, Mrs. Potts simply dismissed it as the vivid creativity of the imaginations of children.

Cogsworth hardly approved. He had enough trouble keeping an eye on the other children of the castle without the presence of imaginary children in the forest. Taking Lumière aside, he explained his plan: They would follow the Potts children and determine once and for all why they kept describing waifs of the woodlands.

Upon arrival at a clearing, Cogsworth was startled. There lay two children, protected from the bitter cold by a crude shelter made of snow.

"I brought it." Catherine Potts produced a few needles and a spool of thread from the folds of her cloak. "Are you sure you don't need a physician? If you won't see a doctor, will you at least see Mama?"

"Too risky," one of the children answered. "If the prince discovers our existence, he'll end it. We risked entering the castle once. I have no intention of tempting fate again."

"I've seen you before!" Cogsworth remarked. "You're the beggar children who hunt wild boars on foot!"

"I'm no longer a child!" the boy remarked proudly. "See my face? You can tell where my beard is going to be!"

His sister shook her head. "Even babies have very tiny hairs on their faces! You won't be getting your beard until after your voice starts to break!"

Catherine Potts took a bottle of wine from the basket she had been carrying. She was nervous, and rightfully so. Mrs. Potts was a kindred spirit, but she did believe in teaching her children that there were consequences for their actions. If she had caught any of her young children with wine, she would have punctuated their scolding with a wooden spoon.

The girl pushed up her sleeve, revealing a gash on her arm. Without so much as changing her facial expression, she applied pressure near the wound, causing it to suppurate. Still completely stoic and silent, she poured wine onto the cut, quickly making a couple stitches before wrapping it in a bit of cloth for a bandage.

Despite the ghastly horror of her injury, her brother's was worse. He actually had to use a needle to fish out some manner of impaled object from the wound on his calf, but like his sister, he tended his own wound without once showing even the slightest sign of pain.

"I brought you some bread," Lydia Potts remarked.

The girl nearly smiled. "Thank you, dear."

"You have names?"

She shook her head. "We never give our names. It's better that way. Prevents any information from being spilled during interrogation."

Cogsworth groaned. "You know what the master will do if he finds them out here!"

"How's he going to find us?" the boy asked. "He's too afraid of the forest to come out here!" He sighed. "The most gorgeous place in the world, and he's afraid to enjoy it. If this were my forest…!"

"It's not your forest," the girl reminded him.

Without another word, they turned and began walking away.

"Wait!" Catherine called after them.

They turned, silently asking what she wanted.

"Here. Take my gloves. My shoes too. They're about your size."

Moved by her generosity, Lumière also offered his gloves and shoes. The waifs thanked them and eagerly donned their new gifts before hurrying away.

"Nothing good will come of this," Cogsworth remarked. "These children are probably in the forest more than in their own home, wherever it may be. They occasionally become so desperate that they sneak into the castle. When Prince Adam finds out, it will be a fight to the finish."


	5. Chapter 5

I was surprised when the Spirit of Christmas Past allowed us to see life as the beggar children knew it. After all, Belle and I had requested that we be shown the past Christmases of our servants, and although these children seemed familiar, I wasn't sure they worked for us.

The hovel was miserable. It consisted of four thin walls, a dirt floor, and a roof with a hole in it. A woman dressed in rags sat crying as she rocked a baby. Her husband walked through the hole in the wall that served as a door.

"Dearest…" he began.

"It's the best thing that could have happened to her." The woman gently kissed the baby's face. "I thought of leaving her with a rich family, someone who would be able to feed her and take her to a doctor before this illness claimed her young life. At least now she is free of her suffering."

The man wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulders, gazing helplessly at the lifeless form in her arms.

"I failed to protect my family," he remarked softly. "It's a man's duty to provide and protect, and I failed." He sighed dejectedly as his wife began sobbing anew. "What are we going to tell the children?"

The woman stroked the baby's face. "We will weave a garland of roses for you every spring. It hurts so terribly that I can barely breathe, but I give thanks that you will not know the life of hardship that has befallen your brother and sister."

A violent fit of coughing overcame the woman, and she spat blood. Her husband could do no more than give her a look of pity.

"Do not worry, my love," the woman told her baby. "I will be there soon to look after you myself."

The twins walked through the nonexistent door.

"How is she?" the girl asked.

The father put his calloused hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid the baby has received the finest Christmas gift of all, for she has entered into eternal happiness. I know it hurts, but maybe it's better this way. At least we'll get to hold her one last time."

The mother began singing softly:

" _Silent night,_

 _Silent night._

 _All is calm. All is bright._

 _Into love's embrace, take my young child._

 _Precious infant, so tender and mild,_

 _Rest in heavenly peace._

 _Rest in heavenly peace."_

"It's a bit chilly in here," the boy stated. "I'll go get some firewood."

"I'll help," the girl offered, following him outside.

Each had made a crude axe, which they used for chopping down trees. If caught removing wood from the royal forest, the penalty would have been death, but the family's hovel was so cold that to obey the law would have meant certain death as the night grew colder.

"I hate him!" the boy exclaimed, sinking his axe into a tree. "We grieve the loss of our baby sister in a miserable hovel while Prince Adam sits in his warm castle and selfishly demands more gifts he doesn't need or appreciate in the first place!"

"Leave the prince out of this, Loup!" his sister scolded. "A baby born to nobility can die just as easily as one born to peasants!"

"If he hadn't increased security, we could have gotten her some medicine from the castle!"

"If he hadn't done this! If you hadn't done that! How many times do I have to tell you?! It doesn't matter who's to blame! It won't change anything! Besides, after Adam dies and you get executed for regicide, will the world's problems be solved?!"

They chopped wood silently for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts.

Seeing a star in the evening sky, the boy looked up and made a wish. "Louve is right. Nothing ever changes. Problems are never solved. I know that, but I still wish just one time, Prince Adam would understand how it feels to be thrown to the wolves, and I wish I may be there to see it happen."

Louve crossed her arms. "Loup Desbois! That's a terrible thing to wish on our prince!"

"The little beast has it coming!" He sighed. "Can't I just wish that he gets beat up a little?"

"No!" She took her brother's hand. "My wish is that he would become a good prince, and the two of you would be able to work something out."

There was a hideous, mournful sound in the distance that I recognized all too well. However, it didn't seem to faze the beggar children in the slightest. They simply finished collecting wood and returned home.

"Shall I tell you a story?" their father offered.

"Why do wolves howl?" Louve queried.

"Rallying cry, mostly. They summon the pack together for hunts and warn rivals to keep away unless they wish to fight, but there is a legend."

He took both children on his lap and began a tale about how in the early days of time, First People taught First Dogs to hunt. One dog loved it more than all others, and she vowed that if she ever whelped, she would teach her puppies to appreciate the splendor of the woodlands as much as she did.

However, just before she gave birth to her first litter, she was gored by a bison. She knew she would bleed to death before First People had the chance to help her, but the Spirit of the Woodlands took pity on her.

"You have respected my forest and hunted only what you needed," the spirit told her, "so I will grant you a wish."

"Let my puppies be born before my death so they too can fall under the enchantment of the forest," the dog pleaded.

"So be it!"

The Spirit of the Woodlands turned the puppies into the world's First Wolves, but as their mother lay dying, she saw a vision of her descendants. The actions of a few would ruin the reputations of all. They would be hunted out of fear and ignorance. Rabies would inspire the idea of humans turning into wolves, and farmers would sacrifice the balance of the entire ecosystem for the sake of their livestock. Rumors would grow stronger than truth, and wolves would be despised and mercilessly persecuted until the day of their extinction, after which they still would not be vindicated.

The dog was deeply grieved at the knowledge of what would happen because of her love for the woodlands, and with her final exhalation, her very soul screamed its torment to the world. The sound was so melancholy that it seemed to bore through the bones of all who heard it.

"And that, my children," concluded the beggar, "was the very first wolf howl, so whenever you hear wolves making that sound, know that they lament the curse that has befallen their entire species, a curse that has plagued them since their origin, but will remain even after their demise."


	6. Chapter 6

"Have you enjoyed your tour?" queried the Spirit of Christmas Past.

"It's been very informative," I responded, "but before you return us to the present, can I see my wife as young child?"

Belle blushed slightly. "I'm sure my Christmas wasn't anything too interesting."

"I bet you were adorable as a little girl!"

Our tour guide nodded politely, and we found ourselves in the home of a wealthy merchant and his wife. Three strong sons were hanging ornaments on a Christmas tree while two daughters sat embroidering by the fire.

"Anne, could you give me a hand in the kitchen?" the merchant's wife asked.

One of the girls put down her sewing. "Is my pie ready, Maman?"

"Come see for yourself!"

The other girl walked over to her brothers. "May I put the star on top?"

One of the young men lifted her onto his shoulders. "Can you reach it, Dominique?"

"I can!"

Anne hurried from the kitchen, proudly announcing to everyone that her pie was perfect. Maurice smiled warmly at his daughter and declared that after smelling it baking all day, he could hardly wait to try some.

"Neither can I!" Dominique exclaimed jubilantly.

"After supper, perhaps we can go caroling," the mother suggested.

I frowned. This was the family Belle was born into, but she described her childhood as lonely. When I met my wife, she was a nearly penniless peasant. What had happened to her siblings? Why was Maurice no longer a wealthy man?

As if sensing my thoughts, the Spirit of Christmas Past transported us to another Christmas. Maurice lived in a simple cottage in a provincial town, and rather than a large family, he had only one daughter. As Belle slept, Maurice covered a book in simplistic wrapping with a tattered ribbon, placing it under their small tree.

"What happened to them?" I wondered aloud.

"Maman died during my birth," my wife replied. "My brothers enlisted in the army. I can only assume they were killed in battle. My sisters married well, but they vanished with their husbands when I was only a young child."

"And your father's fortune?"

Belle shrugged. "Fortune is a fickle mistress. Papa lost everything shortly after his family disappeared. That's when we had to move to the village. Papa swore that one great invention was all he needed to restore our prosperity. Then, when we could afford to hire the finest intellects in France, we would be reunited with my brothers and sisters."

I pulled her into an embrace. "We can find them now! You have all of France at your disposal!"

She smiled sadly. "It's too late, I'm afraid. Papa thinks I don't know, but they were in the forest, and they fell victim to…" She shook her head, unable to finish.

"Wolves?"

"The enchantress." Belle sighed. "They've been turned to stone, all of them."

"Can nothing be done?"

"I fear not."

I thought back over all my childhood Christmases with shame. I had been ungrateful for the lavish presents others bestowed on me. Meanwhile, my subjects had been losing their families. Some even looked at a loaf of bread with more appreciation than I had ever viewed a bar of solid gold.

As if sensing the memories that stirred my mind, the Spirit of Christmas Past took us to a Christmas I still recalled clearly. It was Belle's first as a princess, even though she would not officially hold that title until the following spring. My soon-to-be wife was singing merrily through the corridors about how hope would live as long as Christmas was celebrated.

"Forte's last Christmas," I remarked. "Such a pity he never had the chance to see the end of the spell!"

The Spirit of Christmas Past nodded in acknowledgement, and Belle and I were returned to our room, wondering if we had truly seen the past or if we had simply experienced a vivid dream.


	7. Chapter 7

I awoke to the usual knock at the West Wing door. Lumière entered when bidden, ready to help me decide what to wear for the day.

"Did you and Cogsworth have anything to do with beggars when you were children?" I asked.

"The woods were always filled with them. We met more than we could count."

"And there was a boy and his sister, right?"

"Oh yes! We saw them a few times!"

I nodded. "Tell me. Are there still problems with beggars in my forest?"

Lumière shrugged. "You would have to ask the wolves."

I chuckled. "Let them hear you call them that, and your arm will be as scarred as mine."

He changed the subject. "What would the master like for breakfast?"

"Snow, please." Relishing his confused look, I added, "Just like your mother taught you to make it."

By the time I came to the breakfast table, Lumière had sent the Potts children to gather several bowls of snow, enough that everyone could have some. Lydia Potts, the small girl who had brought food to beggars and attempted to teach them how to read years ago, was now a young lady, nearly ready to marry. Her brother, Charles, was showing the beginning of facial hair.

"Lydia looks so much like her mother did at her age," I remarked aloud.

Cogsworth frowned. "How would you know that, sir? Mrs. Potts hasn't been young and beautiful since before we all were born!"

Mrs. Potts playfully smacked him on the arm in reproof.

The castle door opened, and my forest caretakers entered, shaking their coats and kicking the snow off their boots. I never have been able to understand how those men are able to stay in the bitter cold of the winter woodlands for hours at a time. Perhaps it's because their coats are made of wolf fur, which is said to be extremely warm, as well as waterproof. Having never worn a garment made from the creature of my phobia, I wouldn't know.

"Where are your bosses?" I queried.

"Louve said something about dashing through the snow in a one-horse open wagon," one of them replied. "Loup planned on going with her. Something about distributing game and firewood to the less fortunate of the village. As soon as they return, we have the rest of the day off. It's Christmas Eve, you know."

"I know." I took a bite of sweetened snow, surprised at the pleasantness of the delicate flavor. "I was wondering if you could teach me not to be afraid of the forest. It really is a beautiful place, and it's a real shame that I avoid it out of fear, especially now that I have you here to guard it."

As if on cue, they all began howling with laughter.

I sighed. "You still think I'm pathetic, don't you?"

"Almost as much as your wife!" a second man answered.

Belle stood akimbo. "That's it! I've had it! Every day since I've met you, I've been told how pathetic I am! Well, I'll have no more of this nonsense! Adam and I are going to learn how to defend ourselves and gain knowledge of the woodland!"

If she was expecting her response to be met with applause, she was sorely disappointed when the laughter continued.

"Thank you for making our day," one of the forest caretakers responded. "We needed it!"

I don't suppose there's any need for the Spirit of Christmas Present to make an appearance. After all, I do still have the magic mirror.

As for the Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come, I don't think I want to know. Will Belle find a way to be reunited with her brothers and sisters? Will our forest workers finally meet their match and lose their lives? Will Lumière ever stop torturing Babette and just marry her already? Will our entire kingdom be destroyed by angry peasants? So many questions, and yet I'd be too afraid to seek answers.

For now, I believe I will simply enjoy my Christmas Eve in my favorite chair in front of the fire and sip some hot apple cider, prepared with cinnamon and citrus. Care for some?


End file.
